Eating Paste:

My colleagues can testify, and my family will bare witness that I’ve never been known as a great brain. Some will even say challenged by technology.

My personal belief is that both the latitude and longitude configuration of my brain is now suffering the indiscriminate actions of eating white paste as a child.

I hale from an era of push lawn mowers that had spinning angled blades that stopped when you stopped. If you had the attachment for catching grass you live on the “right-side” of the tracks; we didn’t.

Never one to let a good deed go unpunished, I fired up the mighty red rocket mower with power assist just waiting to feel the surge make its way to the small front rubber wheels like bolts of lightening.

Ask how it works?

Hell, no!

I’ve used a power lawn mower before; heck owned more used ones than you can shake a bag of grass at.

THE RED ROCKET! The two handled power-assist model!

This house has the square grass footage of a football stadium and after the first two hours of pushing the power-assisted mower up the hills, I had pretty much cussed the inventor and manufacture with every step.

With half the job done, I was breathing as heavy as a bull walrus during mating season and patiently waited for my son-in-law to return from work so that I could tell him what a piece of junk he had purchased.

With the sly smile of a gummy bear he chortled “Did you press in the second handle to engage the front wheels?”